


Angel of Cities

by the_mathematician



Category: The Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:33:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28680411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_mathematician/pseuds/the_mathematician
Summary: Aaron has lived his entire life alone in a house outside of time. Though the house obeys his every command, he has always been unable to escape its confines. Visitors come and go, helping Aaron master a multitude of abilities, until one day some special visitors arrive, and Aaron is offered his first opportunity to see the mortal world first-hand. Thus begins an adventure full of new friendships, self-discovery, and demon fighting.
Kudos: 1





	Angel of Cities

**Author's Note:**

> This work is based loosely on and inspired by Cassandra Clare's Mortal Instruments series, but focuses mainly on the adventures of original characters, with the Mortal Instruments characters as part of the framework.

Aaron yawned deeply and arched his back, stretching his sleep-worn muscles. Swinging his feet out of the hammock, he nimbly dropped to the ground. Archer, his great black Shepard, and the only hound that always slept in the main rooms with him, glanced up lazily, then raised his rear hips in a stretch of his own. A few minutes later, dressed for the day, the pair made their way through the bedroom doorway and into part of the house that Aaron referred to as The Courtyard, though the name could not possibly do the place justice. The Courtyard was a sprawling green space, larger than any house had a right to contain, yet a glass ceiling shielded the forests, mountains, and farmland from the natural elements. The place did have its own weather, but precipitation was carefully controlled so as not to interrupt Aaron’s daily routines.  


As usual, he and Archer met the other animals by the stables, and Archer proceeded to follow Aaron around as he took care of their morning needs with food, water, and attention. The horses nickered softly as he entered the stable, and the shaggy bay that loved climbing hills nibbled cheekily at his sleeve as he passed. The other dogs spun and writhed excitedly at seeing their young master, and he spent a few minutes tossing various tennis balls for them. Aaron glanced up at the growing light past the arching glass high above as he walked to the chicken coop, checking the progress toward daytime. He collected eggs carefully and stored them in a basket by the entrance of the barn, to be taken to the kitchens for later. Then, he walked out to the clearing at the edge of the forest and began to stretch.  
His workout that day was an 8 mile run on a trail worn by his own feet through the forest, followed by what he considered to be basic aerobic exercises. He would return after lunch to work through his sword stances before running the agility course he had received for his fifth birthday. Archer followed him faithfully through the run but slept lazily through the rest, occasionally cracking open an eye to check that Aaron was still there. When he was done with the first installment of his daily exercise, he toweled off his sweat, whistled for Archer to wake up, scooped up the basket of eggs from the barn, and exited the Courtyard from the only door, the one he had entered before. When he completed his step he was in the kitchens.  


This was expected. Aaron’s routine was the same every weekday, with only special exceptions. He began the day on the farm and exercised, then ate breakfast, began his studies, ate lunch, completed his studies, practiced skills such as swordsmanship and agility, then relaxed for a while before dinner, often by reading in the Library or hiking through the Courtyard’s mountains with the dogs. After dinner, he usually tried his hand at one of his many hobbies before writing down some thoughts in a journal and then going to sleep. On weekends, he shifted his routine to allow for small adventures that he planned for himself. He did not track time specifically, he simply woke when it felt right and slept when he was tired, transitioning between tasks instinctively throughout the day. It did not matter in The House. The House obeyed Aaron. He could have skipped his chores, and The House would have done them for him. In fact, he rarely did the types of cleaning tasks that such a large house needed in order to be maintained. The House did them itself. Aaron did the farm chores and cooked for himself because he enjoyed those things, but The House took care of anything he did not. It was a peculiar house. And, perhaps most peculiarly, Aaron could step from any doorway into the house through any other doorway in The House, with one exception. Aaron could not open or appear through the front door. 

The front door only ever opened when there were visitors. They never gave their full names, though Aaron had deduced some of them on his own, and they always had something to teach him. Aaron lived for the times he spent with visitors. The lengths for which they stayed varied, but the fact that they always eventually left did not. They simply appeared one day in the Atrium. Aaron could feel their presence and would _skip_ , as he called his trips between disconnected doorways, to the Atrium to greet them. They stayed until The Witch directed them to leave, and then one night they would disappear as Aaron slept, back to the world, to times of their own. Aaron had long ago discerned that some of his guests were famous historical figures. These guests appeared in his books and television shows, renowned for some great skill. Actually, Aaron suspected that all of his guests, famous or not, were some of the greatest masters in their disciplines that the world had ever seen. He had studied geometry with Pythagoras for a year, and had practiced writing with Jane Austen for two weeks. Many people from many different schools of thought and practice visited and worked with Aaron, and he did his best to impress them and to make them proud of his work with them, always secretly harboring a hope that this time someone would stay for good. When they were gone, he was just so alone.  


Aaron had tried to leave his house many times. He had tried the obvious ways at first, like trying to destroy or remove the front door, and when he made no progress there moved on to more seditious methods of escape. A few times, he spied on guests and tried to leave with them, but he eventually found that he could not skip when a guest was trying to leave the house, so as long as they reached the Atrium before him, he could not leave. If he camped out in the Atrium to guard the door, then the moment he fell asleep he would awake in his own bed. Tunneling through walls led to impossible circles back into rooms he had already visited. A daring attempt to shatter the Courtyard’s ceiling proved fruitless. Nothing worked. The house obeyed Aaron. But above Aaron, the house obeyed The Witch.  
Aaron’s earliest memories were of The Witch. She had cared for him before he was old enough for The House to do so, and had begun his education with the help of some of his earliest visitors. Though most of his memories were obscured by the fog of extreme youth, he remembered that she was kind and gentle. And still he hated her. She was his jailer; the reason he could not leave The House. She spoke in his head sometimes when he needed help and sent him notes on occasion. She even helped him discern stories of the real world from some of those that were imaginary, and certain historical truths from cover-ups and lies, but she dodged explanations of why he lived the way he did. He knew from the stories he read and the films he watched that no one lived the way that he did, and so his lonely, if slightly magical, existence confounded him, and he blamed it all on The Witch. 

As Aaron finished his after-dinner study of how humans lived in the 1990s decade via watching Boy Meets World, he felt the front door open. He sprang up and skipped. A girl with fiery red hair and a boy seemingly made of shades of gold had stumbled over the threshold. At a glance, Aaron could see that they were dressed for battle in form-fitting black gear. The boy looked at the girl and said, “Clary, is this the one you saw?”  


The girl was staring at Aaron intensely, almost frantically, but then she reached out a hand, “Come with us.”  


Aaron, in shock, reached for her hand without ever having decided to do so. She was strong, and she pulled him toward her, toward the threshold.  
Aaron might have been a thousand years old or only seventeen, as he appeared. No one would ever be quite sure. In that moment, though, it didn’t really matter. Because, for the first time in his indeterminably long life, Aaron left The House.


End file.
